Bobby's View

There is a place in the North Carolina Mountains, it is the place where Bobby grew up. It is still a rural mountain community with a small village but mostly just farm land. It's the hard life of dairy farming, with the never ending task of milking the cows twice a day, every day and some very harsh winters to boot. It is a life from another time and place, yet it is still here.
I did not know Bobby, I only know his story and only a very small part of that. But is is a story that has a hold on me for a lot of reasons but mostly because of how I came to know it, in small bits spread out over time. It seemed to be a story that found me.
I have been a walker all my life. I started walking a a young girl and it has always given me a calmness that little else can match. I love walking in the countryside, here in the very area where Bobby spent his childhood years. I walk along the road in the middle of dairy farms under the watchful eyes of the cows in the field who find me very curious. There aren't many walkers in these parts; they alll work too hard and have little energy left for idly walking.
My favorite walk is up a fairly long and steep incline The surrounding farm land undulates up and down hillsides with the road curving a path thru it. Because of the way the land lays it causes views to appear and disappear depending on the curve of the road and the height of the hills. Walking up this hill at times I can catch a glimpse of an old country church up on a knoll. The road I am on comes to a t-intersection, with both directions heading up hill again. To the right you can walk to Virginia in less than a mile, to the left you can walk to the church up on the knoll.
The church is exacly what you would expect to see here. It is a white clap-board sided building with a modest steeple atop. Over the front door is a sign with the name of the church that says "Established 1886". A big old shade tree stands in the side yard. Out back is the cemetary that stretches even farther up the hill. The church is very non-assuming except for the commanding 360 degree views that surround it.
I am not one of those types that likes cemetaries, especially those types given to ghost stories. But there was something about this one that drew me in. It is fenced and just inside the gate is a wooden cabinet attached to a pole.The hinged door on it is kept closed by inserting a piece of wood thru the latch. You can open the door, it is not kept locked. Inside is a paper diagram of the plots of the cemetary labeled with the name of the deceased, it is sort of like a table of contents for the place.
One weekend we had a couple visiting us in the mountains. He is a childhood friend of my husband. One morning she and I went for a walk. I told her about the cemetary since it seemed like a place that would interest her. And so we headed there on our walk. Once inside the gate we began walking horizontally along the rows looking at the headstones. We started looking at the dates and looking for the oldest, calling out the year every time we found one older than the last. The face of some of the stones was almost smooth with the carvings now mostly gone from years of weather. Reading the stones often tells stories, seeing an infant dead after a week and the mother right next to it gone a month later, probably from grief. We must have walked along a dozen rows or more looking at the head stones.
After a while I noticed way beyond the populated rows, back in the far right corner up on the hill a bit was a marker all to itself. We walked back to have a look. My friend is from Pittsburg and true to their custom is a devout fan of the Steelers. Immediately she noticed the image of a football helmet on the stone and recognized it as a helmet of the Dallas Cowboys. Below the helmet was Bobby's name, his birth date, the date of his death. Noticing the year of his birth I realized that Bobby was my age. The inscription read simply: "Loving Father, Caring Brother". We wondered why the stone was all the way in the back and off to itself, there must be a story that goes with it.
A couple of seasons or two passed - all the while we walked these glorious mountain ranges. Taking in the farm land around us and the majestic Blue Ridge mountains that surround it in the distance. No matter how many times I walked this route - I could never get tired of this scenery. I have walked all over the world and this is my favorite walk, it reaches deep down in my soul.
A season later we returned as always in the late spring. And as usual we walked. One day I was on my own, I had walked to Virginia and to the old church and was heading back. At the top of the ridge I stopped to speak to a neighbor. After talking a few minutes I told him how beautiful I thought the area was and how especially nice the views were from the ridge his house sits on. He thought of this as God's country. He told me there used to be a man who would park his truck just past his driveway at sunrise or sunset and look out over the mountains. It was Bobby, he had grown up just down from the ridge, he must have been looking at the very site where he grew up and the view that he had had all those years ago.
He said that Bobby had taken his own life. His family, distraught and not expecting his death was not prepared and did not know where to bury him. My neighbor goes to the white church up on the knoll and they reached out to the family and told them they knew the perfect place to lay Bobby to rest. As far up on the hill as the cemetary behind the church went, from there you can see the same view that Bobby had sitting in his truck at sunrise and sunset. I told him I knew the very stone he was talking about and had wondered why he was buried there all to himself, never dreaming it was because of the view. I thanked him for the story and it settled into my heart.
Last year our friends were visiting us again. I told them Bobby's story and she remembered seeing his head stone when we had walked the cemetary. We all decided to walk up to the church and look at the head stone again. The first thing our friend noticed looking at the stone was that Bobby was born on the very same date as he was, the same year, they had shared the same birthday. I can't imagine how me and his wife had missed that before. This time I noticed at the bottom of the stone was a carving of the setting sun over the mountains. I had not noticed that before but now I did and I knew why it was there, it was the view that Bobby loved, the view that brought him here.
On and off I think about Bobby. All I know of him was where he grew up, that he was my age, he was born on the exact date of a dear friend, that he loved the Dallas Cowboys and was a loving father and caring brother. I didn't know Bobby, but I know Bobby's view. It brings me great piece and I hope it brought him some too. Rest in peace Bobby.

A Slice of the Perfect Day/The Perfect Ride

It was that perfect day.
A perfect ride seemed only natural.About 25 minutes north of us is the mountian town of Galax Virginia. Sadly past it's prime as most of these little towns now find themselves. It is never-the-less, blessed with "one sweet ride".
Rails to trails are parks where there was once a railroad. The rails, now pulled up, what is left is a 56 mile "linear parkway" running from Galax to Pulaski Virginia. Along most of it's length it follows the beautiful New River.
All of the trestles, bridges and tunnels are still here. Many park features have been added for camping and picnicing. And may I add that the Virginia Parks System keeps things in top shape. It is quite simply, the jewel in the crown for this part of Virginia. We consider ourselves extremely fortunate to live so close to a "treasure".
Now, bicycles have been a part of my life since I was, maybe, 5 years old. I remember the feeling, the freedom, my world was suddenly bigger. I was a big kid now. Sandy and I try to ride as often as possible. While we are living in France, velos (bicycles) are the norm. We use them to get almost anywhere in or around our little seaside village. It's really quite liberating. That is there, this is here. Here, it is more casual, more recreational. Not so practical as the principal way to get around.
Today, however, a ride for ridings sake. 12 miles down to Fries Junction, on the river, and 12 miles back. Nearly flat all the way. Following Chestnut Creek, a broad stream tumbling over boulders, even a waterfall at one point. Shaded a good portion of the way, trees arching over the trail. It couldn't possibly be a more perfect ride. Long curving trestles, high above the stream. A tunnel, it's cold breath blowing out at you, maybe a hundred feet before you enter. Blackness, a disc of light ahead, almost spooky as you make your way tenatively through it's darkness. And, at the junction, a nearly 1/2 mile long bridge taking you across the New River, the clap, clap, clap of the floor boards as your tires pass over. Mesmerizing!
Beautiful just doesn't do it justice.
Oh... and today, I'm in good form. I've got the legs. I've got the lungs. 12 miles to the junction. 43 minutes. Oh yeah! You do the math! And Sandy... right there with me. So cool! She rides an hour a day either on stationary or on a trail. I'm impressed, for her and for me. Then, I remember watching the Tour de France last month. 16-17 mph, they were doin' it uphill, 12 percent grade.
Oh well. I'm still plenty happy with that. A brief rest. heart's pumpin', a bit slower now. The air, so clean, the breathing easy. warm sun, a subtle breeze, the river lazily courses by. I have absolutely no problems at this moment. Except, perhaps, the thought of 12 miles back to Galax.
I had ridden hard this morning on the trip down. Won't so hard on the trip back. Don't have it in me to ride that hard back. But hey, trails like these are just made for a lazy ride. Just like the river, we will get there.
This time, I see, hear and feel more, but one benefit to slowing down a bit. Summer's peak. Everything's so green. flowers blooming, the creek tumbling over it's boulders to my left. Nice! So nice! About the midpoint, we stop at Chestnut Falls, a now fimiliar picnic shelter with a four star view. The rest, welcome by now. The sub sandwich, surprisingly tasty. We are refreshed. it's a lazy 6 more miles back to Galax. Have to admit, I was a bit knackered by the time I reached the parking lot at Galax. But, I had ridden well, very well this morning.
A good ride. No... a perfect ride, and, a slice of the perfect day.
A little tradition has evolved to cap these now somewhat frequent rides. Up the road from the park, maybe half a mile, Bea's Resturant. The object of my desire, the ice cream. A large cone of the darkest chocolate soft serve I've ever seen.
Does that hit the spot!
I just love these little traditions.
Don't you?

A Perfect Day

Have you ever had a really perfect day? You know, one that figures to be just about perfect.
Well, I had one this week and if there's one thing I've learned in life is that a day like this just doesn't happen along very often. In fact they're quite rare indeed.
And you know what. When you luck out and one of these days happens to bless you, you have to take notice of it! Yeah, that's right! Birthdays, anniversaries and such, well they just happen. But hey, a really great day, now that's something that should grab your attention.
Now, you might be wondering, just what constitutes an excellent day to Kevin? Or.. not? It might sound a bit anticlimactic after all this fuss, but here goes....
first of all, in the mountians of North Carolina. Woke up around seven. It's cool this morning, deliciously so. It's been a bit too warm for days now. Man... I love this!
Breakfast on the back porch. There's a fog about, wafting through the trees. The sun is struggling to punch through. A lovely green "stain glass" effect envelopes me. It's just lovely, the green glow.
Breakfast, modest. A bit of cereal. Sliced fresh South Carolina peaches topped with fresh local blueberries, picked yesterday less than 12 miles from here. A cup of freshly brewed coffee, mine half milk, half coffee and a bit of sugar. Nice! Nice and simple. I sit, not wanting this morning to evaporate. But.. you know it does.
No walk up to Virginia this morning. Feel like a bike ride today. About 20-25 minutes north in Galax Virginia and we're on the New River Trail. A rails to trails park land. It follows beautiful Chestnut Creek down to the New River. Couldn't be a more perfect day. Sunny, breezy, maybe 78 degrees, but... more on that in a soon to be published post.
Wow, that was great! I feel great! Maybe just a little bit hot. Ahh, stop by Bea's in Galax for a spot of soft serve chocolate ice cream. Oh yeah!! Makes me feel like a kid all over, and, perhaps a little cooler.
Back on the "farm" and still, still perfect weather. Maybe 78, strong breeze, bright sun, puffy white clouds, and, a big ole wet pond just waitin' on me. So, me, some kind of suit, a cold beer (Stella), an inner tube a little splash. Slip into pure bliss! I could feel myself "sizzling and cracking", the bronze comming over me. That breeze, the rippled water, pushing my little boat self across the surface. I drift, looking upward aimlessly, those puffy white clouds slowly glide by. My inner child struggles to see the images. But it's not as easy as it once was. Still... how does it get much better?
A couple of hours later, and... I'm all pruney and that "sizzling and cracking" is now more of a burning. Perhaps it's time to retire to the porch for a spot of "porch sittin'" A sweating bottle of Pinot Grigio, Barefoot, yeah, you heard me. a surprisingly nice little quaff for... say $5. Two glasses, my lovely wife, that wonderful breeze. The warm sun, now beginning to create the evening version of green "stain glass". Again... how does it get much better?
Perhaps a bit of a "lie down"?
Oh my! That was nice.
The evening ages, but still, just as lovely. I'm gettin' a bit hungry by now. Pure joy to maybe grille out on an evening such as this. Think I'll thickly slice a pork tenderloin, rub it generously with dijon mustard, sprinkle with kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, a dusting with the herbes de provence I brought back from Provence. Fire up the ole Weber kettle grille. my mouth's watering just at the thought. A couple of those ears of local sweet corn my friend Randy brought by yesterday. A fresh Caprese salad, local tomatoes sliced thin, sliced whole mozza, "fresh my farm" basil, a splash of EVOO & balsamic, coarse salt & pepper.
UH--Huh!
A warm baguette and for desert, a fresh chilled South Carolina canteloupe.
Aint that some kinda menu?
The coals, now glowing. Clean and oil the grille. Lay on those little pork medallions, they sizzle as they hit the grille.
A cold Stella in a freezer chilled glass, a bite of that Caprese salad. Pull a slice of warm baguette from the basket, a liberal spread of warm (real) butter. Oh yeah! Oh yeah! this is it!1
Turn the medallions, now carmel and lined on one side. My god, that smell! It can drive you crazy! No smell can equal grilling meat. it's primal, pity the vegetarian.
No rush. No rush.
Meat, now pulled from the coals and rested, me, now drooling from the edge of my mouth.. fork tender, oh my god, yes!
Encore cold Stella.
Push back from the table.
Savor the flavors. Savor the company. savor the moment.
This day. this day, please do not end.
The light, now failing. The green now turned rose toned in the western sky as the sun dips behind the mountian. Still warm, although a perceptable chill arrives, falling fast. The breeze, softer now, do I feel a goosebump or two?
I feel absolutely great!
This day, I have been there every moment. I have thought no thoughts other than those immediately before me. I sought the day as I did as a child, moment by moment.
It comes to a close, I am not sad. The now 60 degree air, the blackness that almost seems to swallow you. The cascading symphony of cicadia, treefrog and bullfrog.
I shall sleep the sleep of a child tonight.
It was a day, a great day.. and I took it completely!

The Country Life "Bits and Bobs"

Country Life

Surrounded by all these farms, it is impossible to not become just a bit aware of the sometimes harsh but always demanding nature of a farmer’s life.
They are to this day so firmly tethered to the changes of the seasons. Terribly at the mercy of mother nature’s whims.
City folk, me included, we have our impressions of “the country life”. One which is slow and easy. Country folk, however, may see it a little differently. Stressful, hurried and frequently out of their control. Qualities most often associated with the urban lifestyle are equally abundant here, just manifested less abstractly.
My fate was never to be a farmer. However, I cannot help but harbor tremendous admiration and respect for those who produce my food. I salute their sacrifice, their skills and intelligence, their success and their often equal acceptance of adversity. Thank you!!

Got To Plant The Corn

Always there is that whim of mother nature. What I wax on about poetically as the “rhythms of life”, here, they are “deadlines”.
It is early/mid May. Time to plant the corn. This is “feed corn”. Food for the cows. Spring is always either too wet, too dry, or too cold. Still, the corn must be planted, soon, or the season will cut short before it has reached maturity. It has been wet. Waiting and more waiting. The rains abate. Quick, quick! Everybody cutting the cover crop, the alfalfa, the rye, bale it for the hay. Then, suddenly, everywhere I look. Tractors with complex looking gear are urgently planting this seasons corn. Hurry! Hurry! More rain’s on the way. Amazing! Everyone’s out doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.

All About The Hay

Whew!!
All that frantic activity. It can be a little exhausting just to watch. I can’t begin to imagine.
But wait... Early June and now it’s all about the hay. Good spring rains and abundant sunshine
have given forth tall, lush green grass.
Again, everywhere I look and again as if on cue, everybody with a five acre meadow or larger is cutting morning, afternoon and evening. The cutting, raking and baling is ceaseless. Long, long hours!
The rains, earlier a blessing, now a threat. “Gotta get it in ‘fore it rains”. How many times have I heard that just this week?
Yesterday we passed a pasture up the road, maybe 5-6 acres, I don’t know. But, my God, there musta been 20-25 of the great round bales neatly scattered inside it’s fenced confines. I mean, it was like a hayfield on steroids. Sandy and I were joking that the farmer must have left those out there to “show-off”. “Man, ole Joe sure can grow some mean hay”. Must be the envy of all his neighbors. I joked, wonder if he brings in “ringer bales”? Ha ha!
Great round bales, they dot the pastures. They pass me on the roads, trailers piled high. They peek out of the opened barns. They are everywhere!! And the urgency of it all. Always the urgency!

Eeew! What’s That Smell?

Well! By now most all of that hay has been cut, rolled and put away for the season. What could be next? A break?
Well.... When your neighbors are dairymen. And because dairies depend on lotsa cows, well.. You see... they make big piles of cow poop. And... because you gotta do something with all that poop, and... because it makes a great fertilizer. You... well... quite naturally you spray that poop all over those just cut hay pastures, don’t you?
So... What’s that smell? Eau de poo, that’s what.
Yeah, it stinks, but, hey, it’s the country and that just comes with the territory. Like that before I arrived and like that after I’m gone.
A good friend of mine up here, a farmer himself, he’ll tell you “city folk are always talkin about organic this and organic that”. Then they’ll say “ eeew, what’s that smell? “That stinks”! He’ll tell em,“that’s organic”!
Yessiree!!

A Beautiful Windy Day On The Ridge

Morning walk up to Virginia, just toppin out on the ridge. Whew!! About 300 feet of elevation gain in less than a mile.
My God, it’s a beautiful day up here, I can see for maybe 20 miles.
I’m really hot from the “ascent” but a lovely mountain breeze is blowing. A nearly constant companion up here on top, they affect me and everything that surrounds me.
Today, brilliant sunshine, blue skies, puffy white clouds and..... the wind! The tall ripe grass in the fields is caught. The winds will touch down in one spot and begin to roll across the field creating a wave, no waves in it’s path. It’s mesmerizing!
I’m so enthralled as I witness this over and over again. I’m so fascinated by waves anyway. On the water, in the sky, the sands by the shore or in these fields, you can observe the same patterns, different situations, but the same physics at play.
Wow! As I crest the hill and to my right, an endless field of corn-rows (just where do you think the hairstyle got it’s name). The sun is shining, no, reflecting off of the corn. It looks just like water, shimmering in the sun. waves, undulating across the surface.
A mirage?

Black Eye, Wounded Pride

Ow!! Yes it hurts!! I haven’t had a shiner since I was a kid.
No, no Hemingway-like tales of machismo or heroism.
Me, standing barefoot on the sloped metal roof of our front porch, washing the bedroom window.
Now, the house is set in the woods and the roof grows a mean algae.
No problem! It’s dry and I’ll just take my shoes off. Not so bad!
Well, when you wash windows, you use water. And, well, as that water drips down and onto that roof. Well, that dry algae, it get’s a little wet and..... whoosh! Bang!!!
Me, face down on the sloping roof and that sinking feeling, oh shit! I’m sliddin oofffff!!
Me, spread eagle, makin “snow angels” in the algae as I slide. “Sandy, reach me that long handled squeegee”.
Got it! As I “squeegee” myself up the roof and finally my hand grabs the window sill. Whew!!
Bruised, bleeding, covered in algae and with seriously wounded pride.
Well! That was fun!
Common sense? Where was it?

A Calf And A Cow, A Farmers Life and Another Hard Chapter

Another morning, another walk up to Virginia.
Barely 10 minutes into the “ascent” and on the left, my neighbor’s barn, one of many. I know on sight what’s up. The Vet’s truck. The barn I know to be a frequent shelter for cows with difficult calvings. I know this story, not personally, but as one who closely followed the somewhat autobiographical exploits of James Herriot, the iconic country vet in his “ All Creatures Great and Small” set in 1940's Yorkshire.
This scene is probably not good.
I walk on, painfully aware of the drama playing out in the barn across the field. It’s a good walk, a lovely mountain day. The ”recent unpleasantness” momentarily forgotten.
As we prepare for the “descent” we happen across the farmer who I know has been playing his role in the drama further down the hill. I had seen his truck and, well, it’s his barn. He slowed as he passed and stopped to say his pleasantries.
I remarked that I had seen the Vet’s truck and asked if he had had to “pull one out”. “Yes” he answered. “It came out dead”. He looked tired. Tired and beaten.
“She’s down, don’t know, may be paralyzed”. Me, “we can hope not”. The emotion in his eyes.
These farmers, the really good ones, they care. They do get attached to their animals. The bond is natural, their livelihood, but more .
My heart sank for him.
His loss, financial, but more.
As I walk on down the hill, the barn to my right, I looked over. The gate to the bay was closed. The cow, she, laying down, looking out at me.
I was deeply saddened.
Her life, at this moment, hanging in the balance.
It was sad.
A hard moment. I walked on.
But a farmers life?
Another hard chapter.

Porch Sittin

My little cottage in the woods. No air conditioning, really don’t need it. Got a great big ole covered front porch, and it’s here we spend a great deal of our “quality time”. An outdoor living room if you will.
Yeah, I’m an outdoor person alright, you might say obsessively so. And this “eternal spring” stuff I’m always goin on about. Well it plays out perfectly on this here porch.
Whether by myself, with Sandy or with friends, it’s a wonderful spot to wile away a few hours.
A gentle breeze, a cold beer or a glass of wine, good conversation. It really doesn’t get any better than this!
And if good fortune should deliver a summer shower while I’m sittin out here, I mean, man... raindrops on a metal roof, that’s pure music to my ears!
What a shame, the loss of this simple pleasure our grandparents knew so well.
Cest’ le vie!
KC

Carolina Spring Part II

All right, it's mid-May and the lovely piedmont spring is beginning to turn decidedly hot.
But... I've got a little trick up my sleeve. two hours north, about a mile from the Virginia border, maybe six miles from the awesome Blue Ridge Parkway, our little bit-o- paridise.
About 2600 feet, always 10-15 degrees cooler, lower humidity and a ubiquitous breeze. And guess what? It's just getting into spring-time there.
Now, I'm usually up here by late April, open the place up and cut the grass, but this year, lotsa rain in the mountians, bad back-me and numerous distractions back home.
Every year, the trepredations, will there be any water leaks? I dread it! whew! Just one small drip under the house, no, wait, I think that one was here last year, maybe before that. oh well, I'll fix that later.
But... But then, the grass. Oh my gawd, you've never seen grass like this!! As I said, I'm usually here in late April and I mow the drive and the pathways, but, this year, mid May, and what with all that rain, the grass is waist high in places. This'll take all day!! That is if the mower makes it! Hell if I make it! I mean the driveway alone is nearly a 1/4 mile long.
Yes, that did suck!! Yes the poor ole mower made it , just. And yes, I made it too! You know, people around here, they bale this stuff and call it hay. Oh well.
A few more small chores and time for the sweet life.
The Italians have a phrase for it, " la dolce na fariente" the sweet life of doing nothing. How about that! and belive you me, this place is what you call tailor made for it. Bring it on!!! Or something like that.

Mid May, and would you belive it... nights still in the upper 40's. I love it! Pile on an extra layer of blanket, and.. sleep like a baby. You know, the nights up here can be really chilly even on July fourth, no kiddin'.
No air conditioning, just ceiling fans. Front porch, Back porch, a cool pond and plenty of shade. All outdoor living all the time.
Fresh fruits and berries, canteloupes and watermelon, homemade sorbets and icecream, salads, light pastas and anything as long as it comes off a charcoal grille.
lagers and pilsners, whites & roses, fruity rum punches, Compari and Pastis 51. Yes,
this is living light and living well. Swwweeeet!

Mornings mean a hike up into Virginia. That just sounds way cool doesn't it? From our 2600, we top out at about 3000 and all in less than a mile. Whew!! But, on top, on the ridgeline, ya never seen views like this! Miles and miles of views. The Blueridge, the farms. No I never tire of this walk. Even though we've walked all over, The UK, France, Italy, Switzerland and Austria. This walk is, I feel, among the best and hey, all I gota do is just walk out my front door.
It's about the views, but more. It's the farms, It's the people. We've got some great neighbors around here. These are country people, no it's more than that, they're mountian people. I myself am from country stock and I have to say that I'm never more comfortable than when I'm with country folk, no matter where I find myself. Yeah, we each know that we're from different worlds. And.. I know I can never probably be of here, but, they somehow manage to look past that and see just me. You'll often hear them say, " well, so and so's a little different, but... they're good people".
Yes, they're "good people".

Somedays, we take our bikes up to Galax, Va. the New River Trail, an abandoned rail road grade, begins here and winds 55 or so miles up to Pulaski, all while following the lovely New River. Trestles, tunnels and those views! It's one magical ride. No, no, I'm not Superman. I don't ride 55 miles. I'm good for about 25. Picnic along the way. Followed up with a soft serve ice cream cone in town. It's just great fun!!

And, some awesome hikes nearby. Stone Mountian, Mount Rogers and just about anywhere along the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Hike more, I can eat and drink more. That's how I see it!

Wine country? Yep!! Would ya belive it, we're right smack in the middle of North Carolina's two AVA's, Yadkin Valley and Swan Creek. And then there's southern Virginia. This whole area is awash with wines. Some of it really quite good. And ya just know how I feel about wine, don't ya?

Finally, there's what I like to call the rythms of life. Settle in for long enough, they're there, wherever you happen to find yourself. Always, just a little different, you only have to look for them.
Wake with the sunrise, the birdsong.
Cows mooing and calling in the meadow, seeking one and another in the morning fog.
The milk truck chugs up the hill, every morning, three daries await him above me.
Tractors groaning on the hillsides.
The morning walks and the adventures they invite.
What's in bloom?
Sometimes a ride into town, something to pick-up.
Lunches on the back porch.
Perhaps a dinner in town tonight? Uhm, maybe fresh local pan fried rainbow trout, oh yeah!!
A familiar face, hi, how are ya?
Evening falls, cicadias, tree frogs and bullfrogs. All singing their songs of desire.
Plant the corn. Plant the pumpkins, the cabbages, all things green.
Cut the corn. Pick the pumpkins, cabbages and all those other green things.
Daybreak, milk the cows. Sunset, milk the cows.
And... so it goes.

Yes... this is the sweet life.
But... I'm doin' something.
I'm here. I'm in it. I'm lovin' it.
I'm now!

Se ya!
KC

Just One Sweet Spring

So far, this has been one sweeeet piedmont spring.
I am haaaapy!
plenty of those days. You know, cool nights... the windows open... I sleep like a baby. And yes mornings, yes the cool mornings. You just feel so alive. And lotsa sunshine and the always present, just slightly chilly breeze.
Aaaaaah!!! This is what I'm talkin' about.
Now, I can't say that I ever set out to create a "contemplative garden" in my back yard but... No, I don't mean a Monet-like Giverney. But... none-the-less it has evolved over the years into a surprisingly tranquil little space.
Yes... it's one of those pleasingly warm afternoons, the slightly cool breeze and in the shadows of the towering trees... I find myself ensconced into my little piece o' spring.
Chairs by the garden. The fountian babeling by my ear... you just can't help but drift off. A little somethin' somethin' to drink (never hurts does it?) and I'm thick into the green.
Yes, yes, I know I do go on about the green, but... in the late afternoon sun.. splashing down through the newly green foilage... it's just amazing!! The most amazing green glow that you can imagine. It's all around me. If you stare at it long enough and with that babeling fountian at my right ear, you... well you just enter this Zen state. I mean it's really quite wonderful. Or... maybe it's all just the booze. you decide.
And... And those smells. Aromatherapy. Yeah right! It all sounds kinda hokey doesn't it? Well... I have this wall-o-honeysuckle and this wall-o-wild rose by one side, and surrounding that babeling fountian are lucious lavender and hundreds of rose blossoms, all punctiated by pungent rosemary and thyme.
The aroma.. it just engulfs your being.
My younger self would have just suffered itchy eyes and nothing but sneezing. Not now. Now... Oh my God!
It's a cloud of aroma.
So... the green glow, the slightly cool soft breeze, the sweet babel of the water and the wonderous cloud of intoxicating fragrance.
I'm lost. I'm lost in a magical moment.
Always elusive, I settle in. I am completely given over to the moment.
No where could be better.
A fleeting moment... I sieze it, knowing full well I may never pass this way again.

KC

Ode To A Piedmont Spring

It is often a sad truth, the obvious is not always so obvious.
Here I sit, so obsessed with chasing the Eternal Spring. Here I sit in the piedmont of North Carolina. And here I sit in what is quite possibly the most spectacular and translucent green Spring that one can imagine anywhere.
I don't know why it's taken this long to see. It's now early April, and, well I don't remember exactly when, but somewhere between mid to late February it all began.
I guess it just sorta sneaked up on me, but, here I sit, flush with that excitement I felt as a youth. That which a young man feels for his best girl. The confused buzz in his head, the tingle of anticipation, the racing of his heart at the sight of her.
Yes, it is love. It is pure "in the moment". And, as any good Buddhist will tell you, that is a wonderful place to be!
Banish the darkness. Those long and sometimes empty days. Rebirth! A new beginning. Rejoice! The sun... it's warmth caresses my now bare skin. It is bring out the shorts and short sleeves now. Finally! Out and about. Topless car rides. Just to walk. To ride the bike. The sun... yes... the sun!! All about the sun!
It can no longer be ignored. We are engulfed in an explosion of green. Ours is a city of trees, an urban forest. The city barely visable from above... so many trees.
And... it is their time! Blooming, blooming everywhere. The dogwoods, white puffy clouds against a backdrop of luminescent green. The riotous colors of pink, red and white azaleas. Carpets of color, the daffodils and tulips of spring having long since pushed forth and now in all their glorious color.
Oh, and yes... the pollen. Yes pollen! With our ubiquitous canopy erupting forth, we don't just have lots of pollen, we have seasons of pollen. The pines, the towering hardwoods, the grasses and all the other things that may bloom. Easily viewed as a nuisance, in fact often so bad you can write your name or wash me in it on the hood of your car, it is in fact natures guarantee of another Spring... of life suplanting death. With the tortous allergies of youth long behind me, the pollen is now but a token, a harbinger of the Spring I love so much.
The evening sun, beaming through the virgin canopy, still warm to my skin. It is the purest sort of green. I'm surrounded in it's soft glow. A room of stained glass... yes, that's the closest thing to compare.
If life is a series of rythms and events, this time is mine! The farmers markets open, signaling a change in my cusine. Gone are the heavy soups and stews, the meaty sauces, the roasted meats and root vegetables. Now comes the light. Fresh greens, salads, pastas with spring vegetables. And strawberries, glorious strawberries, they are on the way. Surely there can be no more perfect fruit. My drink, it too changes. Gone are those hearty brown ales, the powerful reds and sweet whites. Now is the time of full flavored lagers and pilsners, fruity roses and cool crisp whites. And of sweet southern ice tea, sometimes with fresh mint. My body, my tastes... they again begin to connect with the season.
The beds, the gardens, the yard... now comming alive, they need my attention. Not a chore, not at all. I'm out, I'm in my sun and I'm amidst the colors and smells of Spring. Time to clean and spiff the outdoor furniture, the grilles, the promise of many alfresco days ahead. And my little shop, I open it for the first time, all doors open, sun and breeze enter freely. Repairs to be made, new projects to be started.
No, absolutely not, none of this is a chore. It is joy. I'm in my moment. I'm going to savour every moment of it!
This, now my 32nd awakening here in the piedmont, an old friend. I think that here is where I came to define in my mind the Spring that is in "Eternal Spring".
It is this feeling that I chase.

KC

Shake, Rattle and Roll-on Down The Highway

My marido (husband) and I are staying in vibrant Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific
coast of Mexico. We decided to visit a beach on the other side of the bay in a
small town called Bucerias. This of course required a bus ride or should I say -
"The bus ride".

A brief background, which will be relevant in the story later on. In Mexico
they have topes, which are some sort of obstacle on the road, akin to our speed
bumps - intended of course to slow down the traffic. They can be like metal
balls cut in half with the flat side down strewn across the road , a speed hump,
a grande speed bump or ... "the ditch". Unexpectedly to most tourists these can
even exist on the highways when they go thru a small village.

After talking to the desk clerk at the hotel we had the scoop on how to get to
Bucerias via the bus.Catch the local bus to the Wal-Mart where you can catch the
"highway bus", which will take us all the way to Bucerias.

We walked a block or so and as directed and flagged down the local bus. Kevin
described them as Mad Max looking and they definitely looked battle ready as they
tear thru the streets commanding every one's respect - even the cabbies give way
for them. They looked like antique school buses and were painted blue and white
or green and white - just look for the one with "Wal-Mart" painted with white
shoe polish on the windshield.

Vamos! (Let's go). Hop on the bus and try to figure out how many pesos the
driver wants. Simultaneously this amazingly skilled driver takes our money, makes change, issues us a ticket, shifts gears, avoids hitting a tourist, steers around a taxi and looks in the rear view mirror to have a look at the lovely Senorita's legs that boarded the bus in front of us. We are in capable hands.

Down the cobble stone streets we go - they create a low roar as we pick up
speed. It is a teeth jarring, bone rattling ride. Clap, clap, bang, bang as you
hit the uneven and broken-up cobbles. Clapity-clapity! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! You
can barely hear the person next to you.

We are some of the few but by no means only "gringos" on the bus. Puerto
Vallarta is full of retired ex-pat Americans and Canadians who know how to stretch a buck and the buses are just one of those ways.

Ride, stop, pick up passengers flagging us down or dropping off passengers
whistling for the bus to stop. Some gringos flag us down, the bus stops
and the doors open - they shout out their destination without getting on the
bus. No its not the right bus, "you want green and white bus" the driver
politely shouts at them, closes the door and off we go again. In about 20
minutes we arrive at the bus stop in front of the Wal-Mart. We hop off the bus
and wait for a bus headed for Punta Mita. A bus comes - we don't see that on the
wind shield - one or two more and then a bus that says Punta Mita arrives. Kevin
flags it down, it stops, door opens, Kevin says "Bucerias?" - the driver says
"Si" - we hop on.

Ok - now we are on the "highway bus" and just as Speedy Gonzales would say "andale, andale, arriba, arriba" (Hurry up! Go! Go!). The glass partition behind the driver has Jesus with a crown of thorns painted on it - with the blood dripping down from the crown. The driver keeps the doors standing open, I assume to get some air as we drive down the road at highway speeds. Up to speed - on the side of the rode someone flagging us down - stop pulling over slightly - but after all those behind us can go around. And so the ride goes stop, start, speed up, stop. All the seats are full and we have about 10 standing - you figure we won't stop for more - wrong! Driver pulls over - one gets off and 4 get on. More stops - we finally have at least 18 - 20 standing so the driver closes the door ... just to be safe!

In about 40 minutes we come to Bucerias - since we know nothing about it - Kevin has asked the driver to let us know where to get off in Bucerias for "La Playa" (the beach). At one of the stops the driver looks at us and says "aqui" (here) - so we hop off the bus. We have to cross the road, which is a bit dodgy with the traffic - and then it's a short walk to the beach.

We walk the beach looking for a place to light. We come upon some Palapas, which are thatched umbrellas in front of a hotel. Kevin goes in to the office to see if we can light here. Sure for $12 per person - we have the use of everything: beach side chairs and palapas or poolside lounger and the pool. The pool is huge with a fountain, a platform that loungers can sit on in the pool and a vanishing edge facing the ocean to create the illusion that the pool goes right into the ocean. Not a bad spot - we "takem" up on the day pass. We had lunch at the hotel restaurant, which was on the edge of the beach and incredibly good. Kevin got a chilled soup of honeydew, lime and ginger that he is still raving about. A day of sun and cervesas (beer) or two - but not too many because we still that the bus ride back with no bathroom.

We walk back to the highway. What incredible luck - within 3 minutes a bus with "Puerto Vallarta" on the windshield. Kevin flags it down and we get on. The highway bus on the way here had been calmer and in better shape than the town bus - but this bus was pure Mexican. The driver has a minion - not to take money and make change - no the driver still does all that - the minion was to open and close the door because the door opener / closer is not working.

With the driver's favorite Mariachi music blaring we head on down the highway. Ok but with a stop or two ... or 5 dozen. I have the perfect seat - just behind the driver - I can see the road ahead of us. The driver has a laminated playing card sized picture of Madonna - no doubt "Our lady of Puerto Vallarta" hanging from a knob on the dash. To his right is a wooden box that holds change - to his left a small dirty, cracked, white plastic bucket that he tosses the paper money in.

As I mentioned earlier - these drivers are the best. Remember those topes I mentioned at the start? This driver deftly bombs down the highway and service roads. He has all the potholes memorized and knows which ones he should steer around and which ones are ok to plow right thru. He knows which topes are meant "just to slow down the chicken-shit tourists and those whose vehicles that still have shocks" and those that he actually needs to slow down for. He doesn't miss a beat.

Over the driver's shoulder I see something that looks odd in front of us. Now my distance vision is not what it once was but - can it be? "What's that in front of us standing in the back of that pick-up truck" I ask Kevin. Without flinching he says "looks like a horse or donkey to me". Yep standing in the the bed of a small (Toyota-sized) pick-up truck is a donkey riding down the highway. Aye Yae Yae-Yae! We are approaching a traffic light but the bus moves into a side lane to pick up waving bystanders. We slowly move up beside the truck and I get to look the donkey in the eye. He stands proudly in the pick-up bed - everything is "todo bien" (just fine) as far as he is concerned.

We ride on - seeing sights that look sort of familiar - buildings with signs - but they are 100% Mexican. Oh my gosh, there is a Corona Distribution center - the Negro Modello is my favorite. Speaking of Modello beer - I watch a Modello beer can roll across the bus floor. Ok we are getting close to where we need to get off and catch the town bus. On our left we see Los Plazas de Toros (the bull-fighting ring), the Puerto Vallarta mall and then the Wal-Mart. We get off at the Wal-Mart to catch the town bus. We jump off and are a bit confused as to where to catch the town bus. No worries - right there on the curb is a policeman who flags the bus down for us - how is that for service?

We think we traveled about 60 miles round trip - for a total of $5 - not $5 per person but $5 total. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to do it by car. I was grateful to have access to the bus.

"¡Viva México!" "¡Andale, Arriba, Arriba!" (Hurry up! Go! Go!)

Sandy

Puerto Vallarta....... Overwhelmed!

Wow! What a difference a day makes. No, Puerto has not changed, we had. We had put yesterday behind us. It is a cool crisp morning, bluest skies and sunny. This "perfect weather" would quickly spoil the both of us. Does it ever rain here?
As old town spreads out before us, a feast for the senses, we're ready. The sights and sounds, almost overwhelming at first. The smells, everywhere the smells of something wonderful cooking. The textures... the cobles, stucco, the uneven surfaces. It was all so very exciting.
Puerto arcs around the Bay of Banderas with the old town in the south and becomming more and more modern, American , as you move north. We weren't here for that though. We were here for old PV, As it had been for "Richard and Liz" over 50 years ago when they made it the reigning "hot spot".
Impossibly crowded against the base of the coastal mountians, old PV goes vertical almost immediately. Steep and narrow streets climbing into even steeper "stairstep streets" with seemingly unaccessable stepped condos climbing the palm covered mountian-sides even further above it all. It can be quite dizzying. My mind found this place to be European, immediately drawing parallels with Nice or old towns I had known along the Ligurian Coast of Italy.
But different. Maybe it's this "second world" thing? Not tarted-up, not sanitized for the tourists. A little faded perhaps. A layer of soot visible on the off-white, dog-earred and chipped stucco facades. That same soot, or grime if you will, leaving its tell tale signature on your footwear and clothing. A whiff of garbage on a street corner, where, yesterday it might have been picked-up. But because it hasn't rained here in weeks, the residue persists, because, water, it is too precious to waste on the unthinkable luxury of washing streets and sidewalks.
Yes. This place is real. And, we're chomping at the bit to dive right in.
It's not so big, quite walkable actually. Just watch out for the "rambo-busses" and the cars, no crosswalks in these parts. We walk, walk for blocks and blocks. Grid by grid. There's just so much and it's tough to take it all in. Especially due to the notoriously uneven sidewalks and sometimes "cliff-like" curbs. No OSHA or ADA here. And, I suspect, few liability lawyers.
Nope!!
There's not a chain store or resturant in sight. Just hundreds of little mom and pop resturants, corner groceries, tequila/beer/wine shops, pharmacies, hardware stores, schools, doctors, dentists, hairdressers, food carts/stands, phone shops, fish markets, butchers, fabric shops, tacky tourists shops, fine arts and crafts galleries, paint and decorating stores, furniture, artists supplies and on and on and on. But... most of all... I find myself a central market. A wonderful, lovely farmers market complete with artful mounds of fruit, vegitables, meats, fish... anything I might desire. If I only had a kitchen. We grab some fruit for breakfast and try to imagine the possibilities.
PV is a resort. Yes... but this part, the old town, it is real. It has real life in it. I see so much here of what I seek. She is a whitch, this PV, her spell beginning to slowly seep into our conciousness. A little more dis-armed... no charmed, at each turn of the block.
Playa was easy. It just washed right over you from the first. But Puerto... Puerto would be different. She would make you work for her rewards. With pleasure Madame!!
So many peoples, Mexican and Gringo having built a life here side by side. Rich, poor and those in the middle... it seems to work! The Gringoes, U.S. and Canadians, they've been comming here for decades, because... well... it's warm and sunny here, and... it aint back there. The Mexicans, they're here because of the Gringoes. Many work in service or in those mom and pop stores that service the community. But we... the Gringoes, are the natural resource. Oh yes... and the sun. But... as I said... it works! There's a seemingly wonderful co-existance going on here.
About the beach... well, it still sorta sucks. Just not as bad as maybe as we first thought. Seems our first day on the beach, near our hotel, a beachside cafe, a bucket of cold beers, 6 for US$10, not so much beach, steep shelf and... and, 10, 12 even 15 foot breakers. No, I'm not kiddin'. Good God, I've never seen waves this big. It was deafening. You could feel the relentless pounding as your toes dug into the warm sand. I don't mind admitting, it was a little intimidating. Mind you there were teenagers out there boogie-boardin' on these things. Well they would now, wouldn't they? We would later learn that we couldn't have picked a worst time and spot. It was the full moon with the moon closest to the earth with subsequently the highest tides of the season. There was a strong wind offshore whipping things up and the geography of this particular stretch of beach made the breakers all the worse.
Well that's all good to know, now isn't it?
We would find better beaches, both here and in nearby communities, but more on that later.
Oh... and... there's one more thing I forgot to mention. The Malecon (boardwalk/promenade). Take a particularly hideous stretch of beach right in the middle of town, pave it with 2.5 miles of brick/cobles. Add some resturants and cafes. And... how about throw in over two dozen contemporary bronze sculpture along this 2.5 mile stretch. And on evenings, particularly weekends, add food vendors, strolling locals, street performers and live music. Belive me, this town loves its arts, and nowhere does it show more than here on the Malecon.
Awesome!!!

Ok, so about now you're probably feelin' a little overwhelmed by all of this, right? Well how the hell do you think we felt? All of this in just a couple of days.
Whew!!!

So, I'll be back soon. And... we'll share some of our most memorable experiences here in PV with you. But right now... I gotta crash.

KC

Slap!!!

If you choose to travel much in life, there are going to be those times when "shit happens" No matter how well you've planned beforehand, no matter how skilled a traveler you may be... it happens, and it literally can knock the wind right out of your sails.
You see on the internet what you are meant to see. Reviews are not foolproof. Guidebooks and shows offer the authors experiences. All that you know and your predispositions can get in the way. Even your state of mind at the time, all, all can conspire against you and your enjoyment of the experience.
The real challenge here is how do you react. Do you stay miserable or leave all together? Suck it up and go with the flow? Or, do you think on your feet and "make it better". I have at one time or another found myself in each of these options.
Leaving Playa del Carmen, Sandy and I were both on an emotional high. It was easy to enjoy and we had enjoyed our time there immensely.
The flight to Puerto Vallarta via Mexico City had been uneventful, really quite pleasant. "second world airline"? Felt more professional and friendly than many of my "first world" flights to and from Europe.
Now, right off the bat. One thing I do not like at all is to arrive at a new destination after dark. It is very disorienting to me. Even the most beautiful and approachable city can often appear not so if you arrive in the dark.
Upon arrival at my intended hotel, the venerable but well located Playa los Arcos, I find myself with what can only be described as the "last room in the hotel". It was awful. I had booked a couple of months beforehand, confirmed, and it was not at all what I expected. It's late, we're tired and we're hungry. I think that Sandy would agree, at that moment we both felt like flat tires. A bite to eat, good nights sleep. I would fix it all tomorrow.
Good meal, horrible nights sleep, incident with stopped toilet, rip-off breakfast at hotel's beach side resturant and finally the himming and hawing over the availability of another room.
That's it!!! Time to take this bull by the horns. I never travel without copies of the crucial pages of my travel guides and my search info was bookmarked on my netbook. First order of business this morning, find a decent place to stay!
On the ground, everything is always different from the filtered view you receive from the internet, books, shows or even other people that you may know.
I have to stress at this point, your experience is going to be unique. Affected by all of the variables earlier mentioned and may not even be the same if you've been there before.
Well, first. Finding another place to stay would not be hard at all. An on the ground look at 3 nearby possibilities and we net a gem, the Hotel Eloisa. One block from the surf, a small family managed "Mexican style" hotel built around a central courtyard with a welcoming rooftop terrace with pool. A studio room with kitchenette, continental breakfast and... all for a lot less than the original room.
Perfect!! Feeling better already!
During our look around that morning, the contrast to Playa del Carmen is glaring. Firstly there's the beach. Well.... it sorta sucks. And the town, it's streets, it's a little overwhelming. PDC had been a slow down laid back little resort town. Puerto was bigger, older and with much hustle-bustle.
I have to say, it was a jarring experience for the two of us. There were second thoughts at this point, no doubt about it. Why did we leave Playa del Carmen?
But... wait just a minute. I.. and I think she, knew that things were going to be different here. After all, isn't that why we came here in the first place? I knew it was big and that it was old. Hadn't I placed us right in the heart of old town? And..
we both knew that the Pacific is not the Carribean. And... we have plenty of time before us to explore this new experience. I mean, so many people have come here for years for the Puerto Vallarta experience.
Just "shake-off" the recent unpleasantness and do what we do best.
Open our minds, explore and "live" what Puerto Vallarta has to offer. Seek it's "sense of place".
I know it's here, we're just momentarily distracted.

Day 1.....

To be continued.....

Parting Thoughts......Playa del Carmen

El Fogon,
Of all the culinary treasures I've "sniffed-out" these past few weeks, one merits special praise. El Fogon, a little neighborhood family place with meats done in the traditional Mexican style, al carbon (over charcoal). Tacos, burritos, tostadas, etc. But the stand-out here has to be the arrecherro especiale plate. A skirt steak, marinated in something unbelivable, sliced extra thin across the grain and carmelized to perfection on a charcoal grille. Served up with the best little cup of "bean soup" I've ever eaten, char-grilled oversized scallions, gucamole, tortillas and all the salsas and fixins. Absolutely awesome, way under US$20 with two cervesas, and, get this, I'm not really much of a beef man!

Boobs vs. Bums,
It's no secret that I absolutely adore the female figure. I count myself lucky to have a wife who indulges me this vice, with, one or two conditions. Look but don't touch, remember who you came to the party with and mostly don't forget who's in the seat next to you.
So...I don't, I do and I never ever forget to adore her lovely figure in the seat next to me.
Now. About all those female figures. Nowhere do I enjoy them more than on a beach. And.. nowhere do I enjoy them more than on a beach where tops are considered optional. With a few exceptions, this is not such a beach. The Mexican culture would view a woman doffing her top as being immodest. Wonderful culture, but,can't buy into that one.
However.... however, the local senoritas have found a very "clever" way around this "immodesty". First, the tops themselves,
they're teeny, really teeny and cover very little. But, the best part of their "cleverness" has got to be their fondness for the Brazillian thong, an absolutely brilliant fashion statement. Both butt cheeks are completely exposed with a tiny strip (often not visible) up the middle.
Amazing!! Need I say more. Can't show your boobs but you can let your whole bum hang out.
God, I love the modesty of this culture!!

Jaques' Place,
Met the couple above us last night at the Luna Blue and again at a little Lebanese Cafe down the street. They, from Canada, of course (more on that later) come here often and usually rent a condo up the street. It was, however, occupied this time. The owner, some TV chef, on PBS, they figured I'd probably never heard of him, was in town.
Imagine that! I could cook in Jaques Pepin's kitchen. Wow!!

A Fond Farewell,
Last night, some of the staff at Mamitas wanted to stop by the bar at Luna Blue, seems they know Jorge, our barman (everyone here seems to know everyone) Me, now fond of them and they I, will meet and say goodbye. See ya at 7. Promptly at 8, "Mexican Time", they show up. Jorge has set-up a special table and I, unknown to them, have set a tab, limited of course!
It was a little awkward at first but I broke the ice by taking their orders and bringing the first round. Our usual roles reversed. Ice broken, and laughs around the table.
Language, always a barrier to good conversation abroad, would become even more apparent here. Jose explains that all of them speak "service English". Beyond their trade, they easily get lost. Jose's ultra-charming girlfriend, Ingrid. spoke wonderful English and would frequently pitch in as our interpreter. He is a very lucky young man. Each of our guest expressed a singular desire to better their English as they viewed this as the best way to improve their economic futures.
I started the conversation by going around the table and asking each of them where they were from, for how long and why they were here. All were in their mid 20's - 30's. One had a wife and was eager to begin a family. All had come here for the same reason, economic opportunity. Some had been here a year, some as long as 10-11 years. Some hoped for families of their own, a house perhaps. All were optimistic of their chances here, seemed to be happy and proudly Mexican.
It was refreshing. I felt their enthusiasm, their optimism, their youth.
And... perhaps, a little deja-vous. Sandy and I too had left our childhood home some 30 odd years ago, wide eyed with youthful optimism to seek a better opportunity for ourselves. At that moment, I think I just may have understood a little better, their lives.
Night grows late and amazingly the tab has grown to within $2 of the $100 limit I had set. Now, is that a coincidence or what? But, no worry, all had a good time. Why? You know, all I can figure is there was this sense of curiousity on both sides.
As I paid my tab, Jorge, usually a man of few words, says, Seenor Keveen, yoou deed a reely good theeng tonight.
" Jorge,I got as good as I gave"
Buena noche Senor Jorge.
Buena noche Senor Keveen.

Could This Be The One?
You all know I'm on a quest to find "eternal spring". This place certianly has an awesome beach, even without the bare boobs. The walking is sublime and the food is entirely to my liking. It is a bit touristy, but the "tourist traps" are easily enough to avoid if you choose to. I do not find that market that I will always seek, but there are options. I mean if Jaques can do it so can I.
Affordable rentals abound and it is relatively cheap and easy to get here.
Most of all the Mexican people are so welcoming and friendly.
Good possibility?
Maybe.....but....
Puerto Vallarta awaits!

Lost In A Dream....

Or... On Walking As Meditation

My last full day in PDC... I'm at the beach of course. This place, it's "La Sirena", she has worked her bit of magic on me. It's sensual and seductive. I've not yet "slipped into the blue" but I have entered an altered state here.
I walk. It's perfect, so that's what I do.. I walk. I walk beyond the crowds. I walk to the "edge of civilization". As the crowds thin to a few and the miles tick by I enter into a rarified state where sand and shore... where sky and surf meet.
Winter, that other time and place, I might not allow my mind this endless freedom.. my fear of those dark thoughts that can enter uninvited. But here, here there are no such concerns. I'm in that space between sea and sky. my thoughts no more significant than those puffy white clouds before me.
My legs.. effortlessly they propel me on and on. I just want to keep going, it is pure joy. I know, however, that however far I go, I must go again. A sobering thought at this "intoxicated" moment. I go all the way to the little "cenote", a spot where black holes in the earth allow fresh water to bubble forth. hundreds of gallons, just seconds away from the surf. It's hot! I'm hot! The walk exacting it's toll. I go to the dark wound, gushing forth... it's cold, deliciously cold as I lie and let it wash over me. This feeling... it is new to me. A hot spring in reverse.
Refreshed, I turn back, that sobering knowledge of how far I've come. I pass the fisherfolk, now fimilar to me and I them, their lean-to beneath the palms, their nets stretching out into the surf. One son walking the nets. One now two enormous pescado are pulled from his nets. He grins at me as I look his way. I, thumbs up, he bigger grin still. His family will eat well today.
The peoples thicken. Spanish, English, Italian and French... a subtle calcophany surrounds me. Everone happy, all drawn by the same "Sirena", all sucombing to her charms. Hey. I'm here. I'm back, Mamitas. My chair, my parasol awaits. Staff, now "old friends", they know my habits well. Ceverza meister Keveen? Si senor. Dos cervesas.

Mexico, First Impressions, Cont'd....

A bit cloudy today and decidedly "un-beachy", un-tropical weather. Hummm... it could be worse. Oh well, a day for laundry and a few chores, a bit of blog perhaps.

"The Sense of Place"

Drove up to Chichen-Itza on Thursday to see the "greatest" of Mayan ruins. As a child in the early '60s I would go there vicariously many times through the National Geographic and it's expeditions. I knew that someday, I too would go there. A promise made. Today is someday!!
About 100 km up the road and I realize that I have forgotten my camera. Damn! But wait a minute. I've come to realize that a camera image comes at a cost. You can become so preoccupied with capturing the moment, the composition, that you fail to see what's in front of you. You fall out of the moment. And, well, let's face it, far better photographers than I have captured awesome images of this place. What can I hope to add to that. Well then, I feel much better now.
Took about 3 hours of "Mexican Driving", good roads... 1 1/2 lanes on each side. You just sorta squeeze over to the edge (our emergency lane) avoiding the precipitous drop-off, and buses, enormous double trailered trucks and cars go right up the middle. It's more than a little un-nerving at first, but somehow it works.

Upon arrival, my stomach a bit aflutter with anticipation, we have the greatest good fortune to happen upon, or perhaps he happend upon us, a young Mayan man, Rennie, who was a government licensed guide. This would be absolutely the best US$50 that I have ever spent. He was so proud of his Mayan ancestry. He was of this place. He spoke the Mayan. He had a deep understanding of the history and culture of the Maya. And most importantly, perhaps, he spoke beautiul English. If you were willing, he was ready and able to take you on a "trip". Without Rennie, the whole experience would have been sadly different.
His enthusiasm and depth of understanding of all things Maya brought the stones to "life". I would "close" my eyes and through his words and the "magic" of this place I could see great crowds, 1000's of people gathered before the great pyramid
towering above, each awaiting a sign, a promise of hope. These were not ghosts, but, in that moment and in my mind I could "hear" the roar of the crowd as the morning sunrise pierced the doorway at the top of the pyramid. The "magic" announcing the comming of Spring. fertility, rebirth. Time to plant anew. Decrees of such announced by the governer from atop the great pyramid, the crowds roar. It is deafening!!! It was all so exciting
And at the ball court, the game, the game of life playing out for hours, even days, as it has for generations. Re-telling the ancient stories of the Maya. Appealing to the gods for the return of the life-giving rains. To the victors the glory. Their captain gladly giving himself to the sacrifice that would transport him to the place of the gods. That which would ensure the coming of the rains. Another year of life for the people of Chichen-Itza. His head atop a wooden pole, mounted on the altar of the skulls for all to see. The ultimate honor. The crowd stands before, mesmerized by the sight. Me too. Bloodsport!!!
Seriously, I found the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I had come to this place expecting much. I'm not exactly sure what, but, I would leave here having experienced so much more.

Back in Playa del Carmen, surrounded by the modern day Maya faces who clean my room,serve my food and drink. I just can't shake the feeling that I've seen them before in a different time and place, both now a little confused in my mind. Me, almost moving back and forth, here and there. Then and now.
Must remember to locate that copy of the "Popol-Vuh" I acquired long ago but never read. Rennie said that everything that is to be known is in that book.
Wow!!

Mexico-First Impressions

PDC- Playa del Carmen
Playa Mamitas (beach)
09:30AM CST 11.01 11 (26 C)

Day 01 Sol, ceviche, muchas cervesas
Day 02 Sol, ceviche, muchas cervesas
day 03 Burnt/brown, ceviche, muchas cervesas
Day 04 Burnt brown, oh god, i think my insides are pickled (ceviche), muchas cervesas
Day 05 Burnt/brown, pickled insides, pickled head (muchas cervesas)
Day 06, 07... keveen ees comfortably numb. Si!

I really must admit to coming here with only modest expectations. I mean, resort towns tend to be , well, resort towns. Playa, is a bit of a pleasant little surprise.
The beach is quite simply awesome! Always ranked among the top ten in the world, it's easy to see why. Bigger surprise however, Mexicans on the beach. Families, couples, singles, seemingly all classes and means. It was refreshing for me to see so many local people on the beach and working in the businesses. It may seem obvious, but I have been to many places where this is not the norm. I find all this to be much more equitable and to my liking.
Avendia 5- pedestrian- touristy- oh yeah! But with a splash of the local color. Chains, yes there are some here, but much more local business than I expected. Pricey, oh yeah! Can be. But it's mixed and go a block or two off Av 5 and it gets real, real fast. Real Mexican (Mayan). Real cheap. This is what I'm lookin' for.
Little resturant Dona Mary, personal recomendation of the staff at the Hotel Luna Blue, a perfect example. Outdoor patio only, 20h, we're the only gringoes in the house but no "hey, gringoes in the house" looks. Just lotsa ordinary folks having good food and a good time.
Me- a homemade tamale in bannana leaf, a sabulte (sort of a chicken tostada) and a killer chicken/cheese empanada. Sandy- a tamale, two sabultes. With two "cocas" Mex$82. That's less than US$10! Unbelivable! And so real. So many of these little places, so little time.
We're in the Playa Norte (little Italy). A lot of Italians and other Europeans winter here, therefore, a lot of Italian resturants. Shop carefully on 5th and you'll find great food that won't break the bank. Last night Sandy want's comfort food, and tonight that means pasta. A little open patio resturant on the corner of Calle 26 & Av 5, just above our hotel fits the bill nicely. Atmospheric, good food and cheap (for 5th) at US$45. Cafe seating, me streetside and who should I spot walking by but Chef Jaques Pepin. He's got a place here in Playa, so no surprise I guess. I nodded, he nodded. Yep, we're old buds now.
A word of caution to my wine loving friends, it's here and boy is it expensive. I'm sure there's a big import duty on wine, and, you know my mantra. Eat locally, drink locally. Drink wine in wine making countries and beer where they make beer. The beer here is excellent, cheap and, hey, it goes with the food really well.
About that ceviche! It's raw fish, shrimp, conch or octopus "cooked" in lime juice with onions, tomatoes and cilantro. Oh my god, this stuff is "crack" seafood and man I am so addicted. Lunch now for 6 days and counting, and, can't see me stoppin' any time soon.
More adventures just around the corner

TBC.......